


The Heart of the Jungle

by PatchworkDragon



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Colonialism, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, different nicknames because historical au, european exploration of the amazon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2019-10-04 13:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17305679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkDragon/pseuds/PatchworkDragon
Summary: For Jacie in the 2006 Done We Now Our Gay Apparel fic excahnge http://www.juppy.org/santa/stories.php?ForAuthorID=46&Year=2006Sparkly dance boys as Victorian naturalists on the Amazon.From the journal of James L. BassPara, Brazil, 1852I sincerely hope that our long awaited colleagues arrive soon. I fear Joseph may embroil himself with some native woman — or worse some sequestered Portuguese maiden — if we are not able to start the expedition this year. After much research I’ve chosen a guide, though I have yet to meet the man himself.





	The Heart of the Jungle

> _**From the journal of James L. Bass**  
>  Para, Brazil, 1852   
>   
> I sincerely hope that our long awaited colleagues arrive soon. I fear Joseph may embroil himself with some native woman — or worse some sequestered Portuguese maiden — if we are not able to start the expedition this year. After much research I’ve chosen a guide, though I have yet to meet the man himself. He has been away, looking after his interests upriver, but returned earlier this week and I have asked his mother to tell him of my interest in hiring him.  
>   
> We need only have our whole party, the supplies they carry, and more importantly the funds to pay our guide._

  
Two men stood at the edge of the dock, gazing out at the sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean. The sound of church bells rung from the city behind them, punctuated by the occasional firecracker.   
  
"I suppose it's too much to hope for a quiet, peaceful morning?" drawled one as he ran his hand through his thick golden-brown hair.  
  
"In Para? Of course it is. It's the feast of Saint What's His Name, haven't you heard?" replied the other.   
  
"Do you really not know the name of the saint, or are you saying that to be comical?" asked the first man idly.  
  
"I may be Catholic, but I can't keep track of every Saint. Besides, I'm Italian, not Portuguese. All the names are different here in Brazil."  
  
They lapsed into a silence that spoke of long friendship. The first man opened a worn leather bound journal, and just as he set his pen to the page his companion sighed loudly.  
  
"Are you sure the ship will come in today?"   
  
"It has to. It should have been here on Monday, so it must arrive today."  
  
"Bass, one day you will accept that the world does not do your bidding. It should have arrived Monday but did not. You said then that it must arrive Tuesday, again no ship. Wednesday there was a ship, but not the one we need. How long will you continue to sit at the dock all day?"  
  
"We haven't been sitting here all day, just at the most likely time for ships to arrive on the morning tide."  
  
"We're missing prime bird-hunting hours right now. What specimens have I missed while loitering here?"  
  
"You could use the time practically, as I am. Update your journals, bring your sketchbook, something."  
  
"You haven't written a thing in that journal in the last hour, James."  
  
"You haven't stopped prattling on for one minute in the last hour, Joseph."  
  
Just then another bell rang, this one much closer. "Navio!" a voice cried out, and various of the men who had been bustling about the docks began to focus their bustling on one dock in particular.  
  
"Oh ye of little faith," said James, tucking his journal into his pack. "There is the ship now."  
  
"They won't be on it, you know. We could go without them."  
  
"Not without the supplies and money they bring. And not without losing our hope of future supplies and money." James shook his head. "It is a good thing I am here to be the practical member of this expedition. How long would you survive this primitive land without me?"  
  
"Long enough to find a pretty little brown skinned lady to take care of me." Joseph replied with a grin. "And she'll have three sisters, each prettier than the next. They'll bring me fresh fruits, and fan me in the heat of the day as I swing in a hammock."  
  
"And their brothers will skin you alive."   
  
"No, I will charm their brothers as well; they will welcome me to the family with open arms."  
  
Lance snorted in derision, and then grinned as the ship drew near enough to see clearly. "Look, how could you have doubted me? It is indeed our ship. Now let us hope our new companions are aboard so that we can finally set out on our expedition."  
  
Of course it was not such a simple thing to determine. The docking of the ship took quite a bit of time, and then the cargo was unloaded before the passengers. James watched as the workers sorted out the cargo and quickly determined which cases were from their University. He sent one of the ubiquitous boys who lurked about the docks hoping for odd jobs to fetch a hired wagon, and began directing workers to load it up.  
  
Thus it was left to Joseph to greet the two men who followed the captain off the ship. "Hoy, Mr. Cha-sez?" he called.  
  
"That is Chasez," relied the dark haired man in a French accent.   
  
Fatone tried again. "Chases?"  
  
"Just call him JC, it's easier than trying to pronounce it well enough to please him," suggested the second man. "I'm Justin Timberlake. You must be James Bass."  
  
"No, Joseph Fatone. Bass is seeing to the cargo, he is always busy. He makes the practical arrangements, and I deal with people."  
  
"Then who is doing the science?" asked JC.  
  
"Both of us. I do birds, Bass does anything that climbs or runs or crawls. And now you two are here, for plants and bugs. What more could we ask?"  
  
"Perhaps some breakfast," Timberlake replied. Joseph laughed, and led them away from the docks.   
  
They proceeded so slowly, with JC stopping to exclaim over so many plants, that they had not gotten halfway to their destination before James caught up to them.  
  
"You could have waited for me," he chided.  
  
"They were eager for breakfast," Joseph said.  
  
"I can see just how eager," James replied. For their companions had not even noticed his arrival, so engrossed were they in the leaves of a banana tree.  
  
"Look at this Helicopis Cupido, just like in the sketches I've seen," exclaimed Timberlake as he pointed at a butterfly.  
  
"So you must be our entomologist," said James. He was answered only by a distracted nod, but JC did turn around to face him.  
  
"Monsieur Bass, I presume? I am Joshua Chasez."  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Chasez."  
  
"Please, call me JC."  
  
"And call me James."  
  
"And now that the formal introductions are concluded, would you gentleman care to proceed on our journey towards breakfast?" Joseph suggested. 

 

> _**From the journal of J.S. Chasez**  
>  Para, Brazil, May 30 1852  
>   
> It feels good to write those words, to acknowledge that I am no longer on that ship. My companion on the journey, the entomologist M. Timberlake, while a charming young man is exhausting company. He could not understand that I simply must sleep in the heat of the afternoon, and would always seek to wake me for conversation.   
>   
> My first impression of the Brazilian mainland was one of overwhelming lushness, of being an insect in an enormous garden. Though the houses with their white walls and red tile roofs were dilapidated, and the streets mere rough dirt and mud, everywhere there was green. The massive dark crowns of shady mangos were everywhere amongst the dwellings, amidst fragrant blossoming orange, lemon, and many other tropical fruit trees. Here and there, shooting above the more dome-like and somber trees, were the smooth columnar stems of palms, bearing aloft their magnificent crowns of finely-cut fronds. On the boughs of the taller and more ordinary-looking trees sat tufts of curiously- leaved parasites. Slender, woody lianas hung in festoons from the branches, while luxuriant creeping plants overran tree-trunks, roofs and walls in a copious profusion of foliage.  
>   
> Once out of the city proper, there were even more distractions to slow us down. At first we walked along a straight, suburban road constructed above the level of the surrounding land. Gradually trees grew closer and closer together, until they were surrounded by lofty forest which towered up over a hundred feet. The tree trunks were only seen partially here and there, nearly the whole frontage from ground to summit being covered with a diversified drapery of creeping plants, all of the most vivid shades of green; scarcely a flower to be seen. Over the whole fluttered a larger number of brilliantly-colored butterflies than I had yet seen, and it was with some difficulty that we kept Timberlake moving. Only Bass assuring him that Bates had thoroughly catalogued all the species hereabouts dissuaded him from stopping then and there to capture them.   
>   
> If Para is a garden, then the village of Nazareth, on the banks of the Una, is a wilderness. The town centers on a large grassy square, bordered by the small church and an assortment of houses of various sizes, each surrounded by a low wall and cultivated trees. And on three sides the forest crowds up against the houses of the town.  
>   
> The house hired by Bass and Fatone is one of the larger compounds. The square house sits at the back of the grounds, surrounded on three sides by forest. A wide veranda wraps around all sides, and the walls are open lattice without any glass windows. Inside there are four rooms, and so the tour was conducted quickly. One room was the sitting room, one the store-room and working room.   
>   
> Though Timberlake seems unhappy with the sleeping arrangements, I am satisfied with the assurance that afternoon slumbers are expected here._

  
James explained, "We've moved our things into one room, so that you two could share the other. I hope you don't mind."  
  
"I can share as long as I have my own bed," Timberlake answered, and Joseph laughed.  
  
"A bed? I have not seen a bed in two years, boy. Hammocks are very comfortable and much cooler in this humidity."  
  
"And where is the kitchen?" JC asked.   
  
"It is the building out there, off to the side. It is always thus in Brazil, the kitchens are never attached to the house. You don't want cooking fires anywhere near your living quarters in this heat."  
  
A small breakfast of fruit and coffee was eaten slowly, with much general conversation. The newcomers had news, both larger goings on back home and smaller details of University gossip. And they had questions about the city, the village, the forest, and the planned expedition.   
  
"Our routine here is very simple," James told them as he cleared their plates. "We wake before dawn and head out to collect specimens. By midmorning the birds and animals quiet down, and we return with our catch. After a small breakfast we go back out to look at plants and insects, though of course neither of us are experts. When the heat becomes unbearable we come back to sit quietly and work on our specimens."  
  
"Do you never go further afield?" asked Timberlake. "On my expeditions in Africa with my father we spent months at a time away from civilization."  
  
"We have taken some short trips, a few weeks at a time, to stay with hosts out in the countryside." Said Joseph.  "A true expedition would require at least a guide, and more hired men for hauling, and we simply haven’t had the funds until now. Not all of us have an independent fortune like the Timberlakes'."  
  
"And so here we are, with the funds and the expertise you need," said JC with a smile.  
  
Joseph returned his smile. "Here you are. And fortuitous indeed is your timing, because tonight we are engaged to meet with a guide, the best on the Amazons. I've tried for nearly two years to arrange this meeting, but he rarely spends more than a few days in Para to visit his family."  
  
"His name is Christopher Kirkpatrick," James explained. "He has quite the reputation for exploring; he's mapped parts of the Amazons that no one had charted before. And he's worked with parties like ours in the past; Mrs. Eustace believes he will be willing to bring us on his next journey up the river."   
  
"So this expedition will be soon then?" asked JC.  
  
"That depends on our guide," James replied, "but I am hopeful now that you and your cargo have arrived."  
  
"It will be good to be walking after so long on that ship."   
  
"I'm afraid in any case the first part of our journey will be by ship. The jungle hereabouts has well known to science, we are not the first to base ourselves in Para. We must get quite a ways up river to be truly in new territory."  
  
Both JC and Timberlake grimaced at the thought, and Joseph stood up. "Would you care for a walk now? We can have a good ramble before it becomes too hot. Perhaps I'll get lucky and find a bird or two."  
  
They agreed, though James preferred to stay as the wagon full of cargo was expected to arrive at any moment. He waved them off just as the wagon arrived, and so was glad of the decision.   
  
It took some time to unload the wagon, and direct the handlers to put the crates into the various rooms. In the end, it was noon by the time he dismissed the workers and got down to the pleasant business of checking the crates against the lists JC had left with him.  
  
He had long since removed his shirt and was struggling to pry the lid from a crate which promised to hold the personal package he had been so eagerly awaiting when he was startled by a voice. "Would you like some help with that?"  
  
He turned to face the stranger, wishing he had not removed his shirt. It was not against local custom to simply walk into a house and make oneself a part of the activities, especially not in the evenings, but after over a year in such a small village James was surprised to see anyone unknown, especially speaking English with a touch of an American accent. The dark hair curling to his shoulders, thick beard, and golden-tanned skin made it clear he was no native, though he was dressed in the simple canvas trousers and soft white shirt common to most men in the village.  
  
"Hello," James said, offering a hand in greeting. "Yes, if you could hold it still while I pry, that would be most appreciated."  
  
"You must be James L. Bass," the stranger said, still holding James's hand. James pulled slightly, and the man let go easily.  
  
"I am. How do you know me?" James asked as he picked up the tool he had set aside and continued to pry open the lid.   
  
"My sisters tell me you are the more attractive of the two, though they complain you hardly notice them. And my mother will not stop talking about your eyes — they are indeed remarkable. Besides, you do not have the big black beard so you cannot be Fatone."   
  
Unsure of how to reply to such unaccustomed personal compliments, if compliments they were, James chose to ignore them. "But two new scholars arrived to join us today. I could have been one of them."  
  
"A new arrival would have been more upset by me walking in as I did, and would not have the tanned skin I see on your face."  
  
"I might have sat in the sun on board the ship," James replied, enjoying both the game of words and the twinkle in the man's eyes.  
  
"But if you had been on the ship with the crates, why would you so urgently want this crate open?" The man stepped closer to grasp the crate, and James could feel the heat from his skin. "And there could not be two men with such unique eyes."  
  
James felt suddenly shy, and looked away from the deep brown eyes, relieved when the lid finally came free and he could step away without giving offense. "Where are my manners? Would you care for a drink, or some fruit, Mr. Kirkpatrick?"  
  
"I think not, though you are clever to determine my identity." Kirkpatrick laughed. "I do wish to talk with you; I thought to get our business out of the way without the distractions of my family."  
  
"My companions will return soon, but we could begin our discussion without them." As he spoke, James retrieved his shirt and covered himself, doing up the buttons as quickly as he could without seeming too hasty.  
  
"Are you the leader of this group, James? You don't mind me calling you James, do you? So much less stuffy than Mr. Bass, and I've never been one for formality. And you should call me Chris."  
  
James nodded to show his consent to being called by his first name. "Thank you, Chris. I am the leader, as appointed by the University funding our expedition. I have not had time to get to know the two newest members, but I know they are as eager as Joseph and myself to set out into the wilderness. We have been no further than Cameta, where we spent several months last year."  
  
"And you got there on your own, James? Or is 'we' meant to encompass more than Mr. Fatone and yourself?"  
  
James paused in his unpacking, and frowned at his guest. "We are not entirely helpless." He set aside a package marked for Joseph, and continued his search.  
  
"I never meant to imply it, my dear James. You don't look like a James, shall I call you something else? Jim perhaps. My mother has told me of your adventures in the South Seas, it is clear you are well able to get about in a strange land. So why is it you are looking for a guide?"  
  
"In the South Seas I did not have to find my way in a wilderness, I merely went ashore while the ship was in port and never went further than a half day's walk. Getting to Cameta was much the same, and much like here we hired a small house to which we returned each night. If we are to truly explore, to find and study creatures and plants never before known to science, we must get away from the trappings of civilization. And I am not so naive to think we could survive without an experienced guide." He glanced sideways at his companion, unsure of how Chris would take such an impassioned speech.   
  
Chris was smiling at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling most attractively. "Jimmy, I can see that you are far from naïve."  
  
James scowled at him. "I must draw a line at Jimmy. I can tolerate it from my mother and various Great-Aunts, but it is a child's name."  
  
"Of course, I do apologize my dear James L. What does the L stand for? Laurence perhaps, you look like you could be a Laurence. What is in that package? From Mrs. James Bass, is that your wife?"  
  
"My mother, actually, I am not wed," " James said distractedly as he carefully untied the parcel.  
  
"I'm happy to hear that, so many of the men who travel leave behind a family. I'm sure that when you are ready to retire is soon enough to marry. Are you thinking of traveling up the river, or directly into the jungle? Oh, books, I suppose they must be boring and scientific?"  
  
"Up river far enough to find undocumented territory." James made a valiant attempt to retain hold of his books, but let them go in favor of keeping the rest of his package safe. Leaving Chris to exclaim over the romance novels James' sister had sent, he happily unpacked his new socks, package of needles, and most precious of all, a new leather journal and several pens. Ink was far easier to come by than pens in Para, and he'd never gotten the trick of cutting his own from quills.   
  
"James Lionel, these books your mother sent you are simply improper. I will of course be borrowing them. How soon do you intend to start out?"   
  
"They are from my sister, and you may borrow them one at a time when I have finished. And my middle name is L..."  
  
He was stopped by a hand over his mouth. "Don't tell me, I will guess it. And when I do, you will pay me a forfeit."  
  
Giving in to his base instinct, James licked Chris's hand and freed himself in the resultant moment of confusion. "If you agree that you will not question Joseph, and we set a time limit. Otherwise you need only recite every L name until you hit upon the correct one."  
  
"By the halfway point of the expedition then, when we turn to head back. If I haven't guessed the name by then, I will owe you a forfeit."  
  
Chris left then, after inviting the entire party to dinner at his mother's house. James spent the intervening time thinking up forfeits.  
  


> _**From the Journal of James L. Bass**  
>  Para, Brazil June 18, 1852  
>   
> Preparations are finally complete for our journey upriver, and barring unforeseen disaster we depart on the morning tide. In the past weeks I have learned to admire Mr. Kirkpatrick. We have spent many an hour arguing philosophy and natural science in a most agreeable way. Though I believe him to be entirely self-taught he has an extensive first-hand knowledge of the native flora and fauna, and an instinctive bent towards theoretical philosophy.   
>   
> His movements are as quick as his mind, indeed I sometimes fear they are quicker, that he acts before he thinks. And certainly his mouth is far quicker than his mind or his body, it is as though every thought he entertains immediately announces itself to the world at large. He and Timberlake are much together, even joining in the ball games of the local youths. I think perhaps our young Justin is a touch immature for such a serious venture. I am hopeful that once we are underway Kirkpatrick is able to keep his mind on the task at hand, and not allow himself to be distracted by childish antics._

  
  
The heat was oppressive after noon, and each day most chose to hang their hammocks in the unventilated cabin rather than the harsh sunlight of the deck. James had noticed that Chris never joined them there, and today he planned to follow to find what better place there might be. He sat on the deck in what little shade he could find, watching as his companions slipped down to the cabin one by one. Chris continued to move about the decks, though noticeably slower than normal, and eventually his path came near to James' seat.   
  
"Leslie, are you not going below to rest?"  
  
"I might ask you the same question. Not even you could remain in the sun so long, so I thought to see where it is you go to escape the heat."  
  
"My den is not very large, but I think you are not as tall as any of your friends and might just be able to fit. Come with me."  
  
Chris led him down past the cabin to the cargo hold, and there they had to squeeze between crates and bales in the heavy darkness until they reached an area that felt less confined. A spark flared, and Chris lit a small lantern hanging from a beam. A hammock hung beneath it, with scarcely room for both of them to stand beside it.   
  
"Shall I sit on the floor?" James asked.  
  
"No, I think we are more friendly than that. If you would remove your shoes before you climb in, we can lay head to foot and be able to talk comfortably."  
  
And so they did, and James found it most agreeable. In fact, he made a regular habit of spending the afternoons with Chris in his hammock, sometimes talking and other times drowsing comfortably. After the first few such occasions they dispensed with lighting the lantern, as even that small flame added its heat to the general oppression.   
  
In the darkness their conversations ranged far afield, speaking of books they had read and people they had known. Chris told James of the house he had built, far from any settlement on a small unmapped tributary of a tributary. There he had planted just enough fruit trees and coffee to sustain him, he hunted and fished and passed about half of each year in perfect solitude.  
  
"You seem such a social man, so much in need of people around you. How do you bear such isolation?"  
  
"I was not always this way, I confess that when I come to town it is as if I must have a year's worth of human contact in six months. I have split my life in twain, and the peace I find in my little hidden home fortifies me to withstand the rigors of civilization, while the memories of friends and conversations past keep me company on the lonely nights."  
  
Many more such confidences were exchanged, and James found himself sharing secrets he had never revealed to Joseph, his dearest friend since their school-days. He confessed his apathy towards both the refined young ladies of fine families his mother introduced to him and the more robust and forward young women Joseph spent so much time with. He even hinted at his youthful infatuation with his tutor, though he tried to leave some aura of mystery surrounding the topic. After all, though Chris had shown little sign of religious fervor this was a sensitive topic in any setting.  
  
He did not, for example, mention his adolescent experiments with a handful of similarly confused classmates. And he most especially did not mention that lying in the dark heat pressed against Chris gave him a cockstand more often than not. He had no reason to believe that such a revelation would be welcome, not after hearing the story of the beautiful woman Chris had courted and lost. She had wanted him to stay in the city, and behave respectably.  
  
In all the weeks they journeyed up river, between stops at small towns and isolated ranches, Chris never once called him by name. James became accustomed to answering to any name beginning with an L. Chris repeated some of the names, and sometimes mixed in things that were not truly names at all. After a full day of being called Lemur, James finally mentioned it during one of their cozy talks in the hold.  
  
"Must you call me that? You do know my name."   
  
"But everyone calls you James or Bass. I am the only man who has ever called you Larkspur."  
  
"Yes. You do hold that distinction." James shifted his weight, to cover the need to shift his cock within his trousers. Foolish to be aroused simply by Chris wanting to call him a special name. "Perhaps if you could just call me one thing consistently. It's gotten to the point where every time you say anything with a L in it I must look to see if you are wanting me."  
  
"I usually am, even if I hadn't realized it yet. What if I called you just one thing per day? I've tried everything obvious, so I need more time to think of each one."  
  
"Usually what?" James asked, not following the reference in his abstraction, what with the heat and his arousal.  
  
"Usually wanting you." Chris moved in the hammock, shifting enough to start them swinging just a little. It would take but a little shift on James' part to turn them to face one another. "After all, you are the leader of the expedition, and it is you I need to speak with most often."  
  
James grunted a reply, abstaining from words in an effort to conceal his embarrassment as his misinterpretation. Chris drifted off to sleep shortly thereafter, but James stayed awake through the long hot afternoon, counting Chris's soft snores.

 

> _**From the journal of J. Fatone**  
>  October 3. 1852  
>   
> The smaller boat Kirkpatrick persuaded us to purchase has both advantages and disadvantages. We are able to travel when and where we choose, rather than following the trading schedule of the merchant ship we rode for so many weeks. Because the ship can be rowed with only four men, we have had to hire only two natives to come with us. But when we do stop, it is more often in unpopulated land, and I miss the parties that welcomed us when we stopped at isolated homesteads and villages. Sometimes we were the only European men the natives had ever seen, and I found the women most curious and friendly.   
>   
> We are finding many specimens, I believe that I have documented and collected over a hundred new bird species. Timberlake is most pleased as well, his insect specimens rival my birds in bulk and weight. Chasez spends much time drawing and writing, but rarely shares his findings with us. He is fearless, though, climbing tall trees to obtain a seed pod or flower.  
>   
> I worry some about my friend James. He has been much distracted since we changed to this smaller boat. Perhaps it is the lack of privacy, with the hold packed tight and the weather cooler we all sleep in hammocks on deck, and James has always sought out time alone. He has a sort of game with Kirkpatrick, regarding James's middle name, though I think the game has become something else now. Many is the time I narrowly restrained myself from shouting out the name and then locking them into the hold to resolve the tension between them, sadly there is not enough room to hang a hammock down there and so I will give them more time to solve this on their own.  
> _

  
  
At this point, James could hardly remember what had started the argument. When Chris had first started calling him by women's names he had laughed, taking it as a joke. But for an entire week it had been Lucille, and Lizzie, and Lorraine, until he could not bear the insult any longer. He'd pulled Chris aside, urging him deep into the forest where he hoped they would not be overheard, and then demanded to know why Chris taunted him so. Was it the confessions of James's youthful indiscretions, those secret words in the dark that for James had signaled a deepening respect and trust? Was Chris mocking him, shaming him before the others?  
  
"Perhaps it is wishful thinking," Chris replied, and grasping James by the hair pulled him into a brutal kiss. Still holding onto James' hair he stepped back, and snarled. "If you were a woman you would not hate me for wanting to do that."   
  
Shocked, confused, mortified and aroused, James reacted without thinking. He slapped Chris hard enough to leave a red mark on his cheek. "If I were a lady, I would answer you thus," he said. Freeing himself from the hand in his hair, he walked back towards the others, ears straining for the sound of footsteps that never came.  
  
  


> _**Except of a letter from J. Timberlake to L. Harless**  
>  Dated October 17, 1852  
>   
> It is strange to sleep fully dressed, wake and spend the day in yesterday's clothes. In the heat of the afternoon, unless we have gone too far from the river, we bathe and rinse our clothes. You would be horrified to see me in my unpressed shirt, stained with long wearing and half the buttons mismatched replacements. The state of my shoes (I am traveling with only three pairs) is unthinkable.  
> …  
> I did not expect (though perhaps I should have) how tempers would flare and nerves would be rubbed raw after so long in such a limited company. For three days now, our leader Bass and our guide Kirkpatrick have not spoken directly to one another, relaying everything through the rest of us. I’ve no idea the source of their conflict; indeed it much surprises me after the closeness I have seen between them. Even now, they each look first and most often at the other. I do hope something happens soon to break this tension_

  
  
James walked along the riverbank as quietly as he could, looking for Chris. To apologize, to clarify, to refute; he wasn't sure. He rehearsed several speeches in his head as he walked, but all of them fled from his consciousness the moment he saw his quarry.

Chris stood shirtless and barefoot at the water's edge, facing the opposite bank. James watched as he stretched his arms up, elongating his torso and causing his trousers to lower just a bit, almost enough to see...  
  
"Liam, come here. Stop skulking."  
  
Of course Chris had heard him approach. James obediently stepped forward, joining Chris by the waterside. The harsh noon light seemed to come from all directions at once, leaving no shadows. Mesmerized, James unbuttoned his own shirt, never looking away from Chris. He'd never seen Chris without a shirt, never known how the hair on his forearms would become a thick pelt of fur on his chest, leading down his belly into his trousers. He found it difficult to look at Chris's face, unsure of what he would find. But when Chris's hand moved to the knot of his trousers, it quickly became less perilous to meet his eyes.  
  
Without looking away from Chris's face, his eyes, his mouth, James knew that the movement of his shoulders meant he was untying his trousers, and he found himself doing the same. The steadiness of his own fingers amazed him, the sheer ease of teasing apart the knot, pulling the waistband away from his body.   
  
Their flirtation — for such James must now admit it to have been from the start — had been all in words until this moment. The words were gone now, dried up and gone to seed. Now Chris raised an eyebrow, and smiled when James matched the gesture. Yes. James quirked his lips in a crooked close-mouthed smile that was answered by a sharp grin. Chris wriggled his brows, and shrugged his shoulders, ducking slightly. James followed the movement with his eyes then quickly looked away, blushing. Chris was not wearing anything under his trousers. Not wearing trousers anymore, either.  
  
"L..." Chris began, and James turned his head back towards him, just brushing their lips together. Just to keep him quiet, of course. Distract him.   
  
There was nothing just about kissing Chris. The man was unjust, as savage as the jungle, and entirely naked. He kissed as if it were food and drink, as if it were the air he needed to live. James forgot he was holding up his trousers, hardly noticing that they had slipped to his ankles. Chris's hands were on his back, touching his skin, tracing along the edge of his linen drawers. James stepped forward, wanting more contact, but stumbled.  
Chris caught him, breaking their kiss to laugh. "James Liam Bass, I do believe you've forgotten to take off your boots. Let me help," Before James could recover enough sense to speak, Chris was on his knees, untying the boots. He looked up, his face on a level with where James' cock strained against the thin fabric, and grinned wickedly.   
  
James swallowed, his mouth dry, and stepped out of each boot as Chris's clever hands guided him, then out of his trousers. When Chris reached for the string of his drawers, James brushed off his hands and pushed them down himself, still tied, easing them over his aching cock. As he pushed the drawers down and off, he grasped Chris by the shoulders and urged him to stand, needing to taste him again before stepping further into unknown territory.  
  
Their mouths met again, but this time kiss was lost in the sensation of their cocks meeting. None of James' previous encounters had been like this, fully naked in sunlight, their bodies touching along their full length. His cock rubbed into the hair at Chris' groin, rough and soft all at once, and he thought he would spend in that moment. He could not have borne that embarrassment, and so he brought his hand between them, fumbling until he could get his fingers around both cocks. Chris jerked forward and bit his lip, and they nearly fell before they regained their balance. Chris added his own hand to the confusion of pleasure and they frigged one another ruthlessly, wringing out the last drops of ecstasy.  
  
Gasping, hardly able to stand upright, James leaned on Chris. Chris however, seemed to have no intention of supporting James' weight and sank to the ground, pulling James down with him. They sat entangled and sticky, panting. James reached out and found a cast-off garment, his own drawers, and clumsily wiped at the evidence of their mutual pleasure.   
  
Chris looked at him, his smile lighting up his face, and then laughed. Giggled, really, like a schoolgirl, and the happy feeling in James' belly began to curdle.   
  
"We. Oh that was," Chris seemed unable to speak through his laughter, and James tried to pull away. But Chris's strong arms held him close, and when he began to scatter soft kisses over James' face James relaxed into him.  
  
"If we had done that a month ago," Chris said between kisses, "This expedition would have been so much more pleasant for everyone." James smiled at that, and then thought on it, and could not help laughing himself.  
  
James insisted on rinsing his drawers, and they had to be left to dry — not a quick process in this humidity — and Chris reacted rather strongly to the sight of James bent over to lay them out to dry. What with one thing and another, it was several hours before they returned to the boat.  
  
On their way back, Chris took his hand, pulling him up short. "You do realize I have only two more days to guess your name, L..." James cut him off with a kiss, which lead to another, and another.  
  
"You're not just doing that to keep me from guessing, are you?" Chris asked with exaggerated suspicion.  
  
James kissed him again. "No, I would do this without the damn game. I'm just so damned tired of you calling me names that are not mine."  
  
"So, I shall just call you Mine," Chris replied. "Would you prefer that, Mine?"  
  
James pulled Chris close, pressing against him to show just how much he appreciated that name. "Only if you are Mine as well."   
  
"That could be confusing; if we are both called Mine," Chris said between more kisses. "Should someone call out 'Mine' both of us would turn around. Very awkward socially."  
  
Taken aback, James pulled back far enough to see Chris' face. "You plan to call me that in company?"  
  
"I see no reason to hide my claim on you, Mine." Chris's eyes fell, and his arms slipped away from James's waist. "Unless you prefer not to be so closely linked with me in front of others."  
  
James tightened his own grip, refusing to let Chris slip away. "No,  **Mine** , I would not deny you for any price. But the world being what it is, it cannot be prudent for us to flaunt what is between us."  
  
Chris leaned his head onto James' shoulder, and breathed a great sigh. "You speak wisely, young James." Before James could grasp the import of being called by his first name, he was somewhat distracted by the hand that grasped his cock through his trousers. "Wouldn't want to flaunt this and have everyone wanting a go at it."  
  
James groaned. "No flaunting. And no going at it, not now. We must get back before anyone gets worried."  
  
Chris pulled away, and grinned happily. "Race?"  
  
"Must everything be a competition?"  
  
"Not everything," Chris said. "Some things should be achieved by teamwork rather than competition."  
  
"I think we work quite well together, when we both have the same goal in mind."  
  
"That we do, Mine. But for the current goal before us, a race would be great fun. Or are you afraid to lose?"  
  
"Why would you think I would fear losing?" James asked him, running a hand along Chris' cheek, just along the line of his beard. "I rarely lose." He whispered, and kissed Chris quickly on the nose before he turned and ran.  
  
Behind him, Chris laughed and soon they were running neck and neck, calling out playful insults as they ran. They ran not as a man would in an open field, or a flat paved road, but more slowly, weaving between trees and around roots and logs. James soon abandoned the verbal jousting, needing all his concentration for his footing, and to keep himself pointed towards their destination. Ahead them loomed a great tree, it's roots reaching down the bank into the river. It would mean detouring nearly a score of yards, or else slowing enough to scramble over the roots. James chose the path of caution, hardly realizing that Chris swerved the other way.  
  
Until Chris cried out suddenly, followed by a splash. His heart in his throat, James turned and scrambled up over the roots to the river's edge. There Chris floundered in the dank water between the roots, struggling in vain to pull himself out.  
  
"Are you hurt?" James asked, as he studied the lie of the roots, looking for a safe way to help Chris.  
  
"I turned my ankle," Chris replied, calming his thrashing moments somewhat. James finally found a root that looked right, and carefully edged out, not wishing to join Chris in the trap. When he was as close as he could safely be, he lay down with his feet braced on another root.  
  
"Take my hands," he said, and Chris obeyed, grasping his forearms tightly. With a grunt, James pulled him up, out of the water, sliding back on the root until Chris lay on his stomach, legs just above the water. "Are you balanced?" James asked him, and Chris nodded. James then stood gingerly, and helped Chris upright. They made their way back to solid ground slowly, James steadying Chris whenever he had to put weight on the injured ankle.  
  
They spoke little on the way back, Chris leaning more heavily on James the longer they walked. He stumbled a little, and James — who had just caught sight of the boat through a gap in the trees — picked him up and carried him the last few dozen yards.  
  
They were met by their colleagues, who made a great fuss over their injured guide. Joseph would have taken him from James, but was rebuffed when Chris clung to James, saying he would only be carried by his hero. James, who would actually rather have been rid of the weight, no matter how pleasant the proximity, stumbled the rest of the way to the boat. There Chris condescended to have help from the others, and they got him into a hammock.  
  
While James worked the stiff wet boot off of Chris' swollen ankle, Chris regaled them all with a fanciful tales of a talking toad that lured him to the water's edge. "And then I was rescued by a fair Knight, Sir Lancelot himself, who vanquished the vile beast and carried me off on his noble steed."   
  
James ceased his task, mouth open in shock. His reaction went unnoticed, and the others continued talking.  
  
"Where is the steed now?" asked Justin.  
  
"Why, it ran off at the sight of your face," Chris replied. "Is that not right, my dear Sir Lancelot?"  
  
Now Joseph realized what Chris had said, and asked him "Was carrying you to camp the forfeit you claimed?"  
  
"What?" asked Chris, confused.  
  
"No," answered James. "This is the first time he's said it, and so now he must choose his forfeit."  
  
"Said what?" asked JC.  
  
"Said 'Lancelot'." James busied himself with Chris' boot as he spoke, embarrassed as always when speaking his full name. "James Lancelot Bass. My mother is very fond of tales of the Round Table."  
  
"Lancelot. I should have guessed, it suits you. Are you a good jouster then?" Chris asked slyly, and James fought to keep the color from rising to his face.  
  
"What is your forfeit?" asked Joseph. "I'm sure you have one ready, now that you have won."  
  
"There are many things I would ask of my dear Sir Lancelot, but that which is given out of obligation is no true gift," Chris replied. James kept his eyes averted, finally removing the boot and peeling off the stocking as well. Chris' ankle was alarmingly swollen.  
  
"Kisses are the traditional forfeit," JC said, and Justin began to laugh.  
  
"Can you imagine, Chris asking James for a kiss?"  
  
"That I would give freely," James replied. He bent his head to gently kiss the swollen ankle, to appreciative applause from their audience. Chris proclaimed himself well satisfied with his prize, and the conversation shifted into heated argument over whether a turned ankle should be heated or chilled.  
  
  


> _**Excerpt of a letter from Mrs. James Bass, addressed to James L Bass**  
>  Dated May 4, 1854  
> ...  
> You ask me to leave off, to accept your decision to stay in that wild land. That I can never do, though your father refuses to write you again himself. I cannot understand what keeps you there, far from the life you were meant for. When you set out on this little jaunt, I thought it to be a glorified school-trip, a celebration of your graduation. Many young men embark on such journeys, but all of them return to settle into their lives, to find a wife and carry on their family name.   
>   
> You have been gone from us nearly five years now; you have not met your sister's husband much less her two beautiful children. At least I have those darlings to gladden my heart, but it is not the same as my own dear boy. On this day of all days I can think of nothing but you, and I once again ask that you come home, where you belong. Your father will soon forget his anger at your abandonment of your responsibilities, if only you would return.  
> ..._

  
The little house that had once seemed so isolated was now only a days hard rowing from the nearest town — half a day by steamboat. Chris grumbled greatly about the loss of privacy as he sat on the porch grinding coffee beans.  
  
James looked up from the book he held, glad for the distraction. The book was not well written, though the theories of kinship among primate species were fascinating. "We could move further up river, build another house." he offered.  
  
"As long as we are on the river, people will come. This country is quickly growing civilized, soon there will be one great city up the length of the entire Amazons." Chris said. "And then, Mine, what will we do? Shall we build a house on the moon to escape from prying eyes and busybody neighbors?"  
  
"If we must," James replied. "Or we could follow one of the smaller tributaries, one too shallow for large ships or steamboats, and build a home there."  
  
"Do you think we could find that tree again, and build our house there? I remember it fondly."  
  
"Fondly? That's not what you said last week when you wanted me to carry you home because your ankle hurt."  
  
"I was thinking rather of cutting it down and using it to build a house further up the river, at the spot where we first kissed."  
  
"You've been reading my sister's novels again, haven't you?"  
  
"Of course. But really, we should stay. We have a good amount of land fenced in, our neighbors cannot build within hearing at least. And the town will be to our advantage in many ways. It will certainly make it easier for you to obtain paper, and to carry on your correspondence."  
  
"But what of your need for privacy? For time alone to find your peace?"  
  
"I have not felt that need in nearly two years. I think I will never again find peace in loneliness."  
  
James had to kiss him then, and what with one thing and another, the coffee beans were not ground until the next day.


End file.
